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“Yes, to look at plants,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Let me know when they contact you.”
Piper gave him a wink and leaned forward pressing the halt button again to restart the elevator. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” She grinned as the elevator started its descent again.
This time all Dawson could do was laugh.
Chapter Seven
It was earlybut Dawson was tired. He was usually a morning person. But last night sleep had evaded him, and he’d ended up looking at rescue cats and dogs again. He was actually starting to consider one seriously now. What was wrong with him?
His doorbell sounded and he padded over, opening the door to a basket on his doorstep. He walked down the apartment corridor and looked out the window. The familiar black car was outside at the sidewalk, and the black-capped driver gave him a wave before stepping back into the car and driving away.
Dawson lifted the wicker basket. It was filled with a large urn—judging from the smell—of coffee with the rest of the basket packed with pastries, croissants, and baked goods, along with a pristine white envelope. His stomach growled loudly. He could easily sit down at his table and devour all of this, but somehow, he knew he wanted to do something else.
He pulled on his jeans and a jacket and jumped in the car. The drive to Piper’s was only twenty minutes and she opened the door in pink pajamas, big slippers, and her hair piled up on her head.
He held up his basket. “Snap?” he queried.
She opened her door wide and let him see into the kitchen where her identical basket sat. “Snap.” She smiled, gesturing for him to come inside.
He sat down at her table and pulled out the flask of coffee as she lifted some mugs over for them. She pointed at a jelly-filled Danish in his basket. “That one’s the best,” she said with authority. “The apricot one just isn’t quite as good.”
He looked at her basket in amusement and saw that both were missing. “I’ll take your word for it.” He smiled, lifting out a croissant and breaking one end from that.
“I take it you haven’t opened your clue yet?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t we made some kind of unwritten rule by now that we do them together?”
“Not officially.” He smiled. “But I guess so. Cute pajamas.”
Piper looked down in shock, clearly forgetting that she’d been wearing them. “Guess I’m just comfortable around you now,” she said. “But just so you know, these are mybestpajamas.”
He gave her a nod. “Of course, they are. Only jumping bunnies could possibly make the top tier of pajamas.”
She held up her card. “So, are we ready for this?”
He pulled out his. “I am, when you are?”
“Do you want to film?”
He pressed his lips together for a second while he hesitated. “Maybe later.” He just wasn’t sure anymore how much of this he wanted to capture. Was he letting the story of a lifetime slip through his fingers? Maybe. But it was his story and Piper’s. If he had to recreate parts at a later date, then he could ask her. Right now, he wanted to keep it as just them.
“Should we do this like rock, paper, scissors?”
He frowned. “How about we just do, one, two, three, open.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
They counted down together and opened their envelopes, pulling out the next clue.
In the space of our sixteenth man,
With historical, botanical, and biological wonders,
Find the best-kept seasonal secret of our city planner
Where a French impressionist might feel at home.
